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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402761">Anne of the Eighties</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyfr0gs/pseuds/lovelyfr0gs'>lovelyfr0gs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) &amp; Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Avonlea (Anne of Green Gables), Avonlea Story Club, Character Development, Childhood Memories, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Engagement, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Green Gables, Humor, Inspired by Anne of Green Gables, Intimacy, Love, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Modern Era, Nostalgia, Platonic Soulmates, Romance, Sentimental, Shirbert, Slow Burn, lonely</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:22:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyfr0gs/pseuds/lovelyfr0gs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A reimagination of the 'Anne of Green Gables' book series set in the 1980s. Anne struggles to navigate a world in constant flux, but not without the help of her friends. They stitch old wounds, open new ones, and allow their lives to be changed together... for good.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anne Shirley/Jane Andrews, Diana Barry/Fred Wright, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Anne catches a bus with Gilbert to her first day of university in Toronto in 1983. Gilbert reminisces on the past and the swift passage of time, and Anne is awestruck seeing York University up close for the first time. Marilla is not well, and the couple intend to visit her after Anne's first day.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The memory of summer hung on the horizon. The birds were getting lazier and the seaside crowd was thinning by the day. The trolleybuses that passed through Dupont Street seemed practically empty. Holiday season was over, and the thin woman at the bus stop knew it. She sat with a notebook on her lap, pen in her hand, composing prose for the sake of her own boredom. She could hear the buses long before they passed—shuddering through the underpass—and she’d look up to discover, yet again, that it wasn’t her bus, which was now running a quarter hour late.</p><p>She drew a long breath and tried smoothing her pencil skirt. Diana had told her to wear black—“It rained good and proper last night”—but Anne was in a rush. As a matter of fact, she had plenty of time to change into a darker skirt, but she wanted to be at least half an hour early for the bus. Perhaps she was paranoid, but Anne feared the wetness of the morning had begun to accentuate a large crease running up her skirt, so she kept looking at it, smoothing it over, and trying to fold it back against itself. </p><p>She frowned and tore a page from her notebook, folding it neatly and tucking it into her backpack’s smallest compartment. As much as Anne adored fashion, she’d never been one for handbags. Her shoulders were never broad enough to carry them; and, besides, she needed her hands free to jot ideas down on the go. </p><p>As a young girl, Anne Shirley had been so very creative. Perhaps her creative well had run dry as she got older, for she could no longer compose great romances by candlelight. Her recent stories all seemed to say the same thing: <em> this city never sleeps </em> . She had been using concealer to cover the dark circles beneath her eyes; and, at the very least, it helped to distract from their sunkenness. She felt that without her makeup, she looked a bit <em> too much </em> like a writer. She tried to smooth her skirt once more and heard the familiar rattling of another trolleybus as it came through the underpass. She squinted up at it as it came into sight—it had the number 16 in yellow above the front window beside the words YORK UNIVER-ITY. She snorted; the ‘S’ must’ve fallen off. She stood to hail the driver and the trolleybus crept to the road’s shoulder. The doors unfolded and Anne marched in. “I’m off to the <em> univerity </em>,” she said, and passed a few silver coins across to the driver. He didn’t humour her one bit—not even a nod of his shiny, bald head—as she found a place to sit.</p><p>Anne tried not to think too much, but long bus rides always made her think. She thought about writing and how hard it was to think up good story ideas these days. It was funny how the moment she found romance in her life, she lost it in her writing. She’d never tell Gilbert this, of course, because he’d insist that they ‘take a break’ just for the sake of her art. She wanted romance in both her life and writing—she was beginning to think she couldn’t live knowing these two were mutually exclusive. To take her mind off things, Anne decided to <span>flip through her brand new textbook</span>. Canada had not managed to avoid the educational turmoil that overcame the United States over the past several years, so university courses like Anne’s in education were considered “vital”—said Terrel H. Bell—“in defeating this rising tide of mediocrity in American schools.” Anne felt her education had been nothing short of excellence, but she knew many of her old classmates would disagree. Gilbert Blythe, for one, was under the impression that, if not for his own scholarly love of learning, he wouldn’t be studying medicine at York on a half-scholarship. It was that thought that reminded Anne the trolleybus was nearing Gilbert’s stop. She watched the trees rush by her window and waited for them to part. Eventually they did, and the bus slowed down beside a young man dressed semi-formally: baggy dress pants suspended by a brown belt around his slim waist and a jacket that draped over a plain, grey t-shirt. He ran a hand through his curly hair; Anne laughed to herself—he’d tried to put gel in it.</p><p>Gilbert strode up the bus to meet Anne, trying to suppress a smile. It was the stubbornness they both had that didn’t allow them to express their relief in seeing one another again. Anne bit her lip. Gilbert sat on the edge of the seat beside her.</p><p>“Don’t sit so far away, it’s only me!” said Anne.</p><p>“I just thought you might like your own space,” Gilbert replied. “And before you say, yes I did gel my hair. I want to make a good first impression on the new lecturers.”</p><p>“How good of a first impression exactly?” said Anne, winking. “They won’t <em> all </em> sleep with you.”</p><p>“Anne Shirley!” She jumped at the sound of her full name, but Gilbert was laughing. “Don’t go making jokes like that today. Besides, <em> all </em> is only two, and they won’t know me for too long. Just till the winter.”</p><p>Anne tried to hide her disappointment at the mention of the coming winter. She said, “I still don’t know how I feel about you spending Christmas abroad, Gil.”</p><p>“You know me, I’ll be careful.”</p><p>“No, Gil.” Anne moved closer to him. “I’ll miss you, that’s all.”</p><p>“I won’t be any different when I return,” Gilbert said. “I promise. And stop smoothing out your skirt, silly, it looks absolutely fine.”</p><p>“Should’ve worn black. I waited at that bus stop for nearly an hour!”</p><p>“That’s so typical of you, isn’t it, early-Shirley?” Gilbert teased. “I ran to the stop thinking I was late and only ended up waiting ten minutes. I really thought I’d missed my first trip up to York with you.”</p><p>“Well, you didn’t.” Anne smiled and pulled Gilbert into a hug. “It’s been a day and I’ve missed you so.” </p><p>“Me too. You’re so old fashioned, aren’t you?” He hugged her back and laughed. Gilbert looked past Anne and out the window. The world was flashing by and he felt a nervous ache settle in the bottom of his stomach. He opened his mouth to say something to Anne, but he choked on his words. Anne looked at him and said, “You’re pale. Gil, are you alright?”</p><p>Gilbert collected his thoughts, trying to find his words. “Well, Anne”—he spoke slowly—“this is my last semester at York. It’s beginning to sink in because this is <em> your </em> first time and all I can do is think of <em> mine </em>. I thought it would last forever, I really did.”</p><p>“It’s not over yet,” Anne said, pulling Gilbert closer to her. The couple sat in silence for some time; Gilbert watched the landscape morph through the window, and Anne stared into his eyes. There was a better landscape framed in them, she thought, than in the window.</p><p>“We’re nearly there,” Gilbert murmured in her ear. Anne straightened in her seat to look through the front window. Ahead, a great, white building rose into the sky, checkered with windows. In its shadow lay a sloping mass of pristine turf. Pavements snaked through the turf and curled around the white building. Anne’s eyes were drawn to the foot of a Canadian flag, where a gigantic pool of water—smooth like concrete—mirrored the pale, blue sky above.</p><p>“Oh, Gilbert!” she cried. “It’s even more splendid than I imagined!”</p><p>“Well, it’s certainly something,” Gilbert replied. “I usually say ‘you’ll get used to it’ to first timers, but you won’t, will you?”</p><p>“I never will,” gushed Anne. “I’ve seen it before, of course, but this time is different. Because I know it’s my destination. I know where we are going and I know what I am doing. Oh, but what if nobody speaks to me?”</p><p>“They’ll speak to you. Now come on, we’re stopping.” Gilbert took her hand and stood up. Anne followed him—she couldn’t walk very well with her hand in his, but she held on anyway. Some people make all the awkward walking in the world worth it.</p><p>Gilbert thanked the bus driver on the way out, but Anne was speechless. She meant to say ‘thank you’, and yet she couldn’t take her eyes off the building before her. She walked like a woman in a dream. The stubborn crease up her skirt didn’t seem to matter anymore as she gazed up, <em> up, up </em> at the high windows, imagining herself behind each of them. A thousand story ideas flooded her and she felt fit to drown. Gilbert was smirking. “I’ve never been this close before,” she said. She slung her backpack off and reached into it, retrieving her notebook and pen. She scribbled several things down without looking—her eyes were glued to the building. The passersby were all so different and unique: John Travoltas waltzed in their leather jackets, hair tied back; Ziggy Stardusts cat-walked with guitars slung over their shoulders; and Jane Fondas swayed in time to imaginary music, charming and subtle. Suits and labcoats passed by Anne, as well as pencil skirts like her own, and women with ample hairspray, fit to assassinate flies within a metre radius. Anne could not believe what she was seeing.</p><p>“Education, education, education,” muttered Gilbert. He was scrutinising a map in his hands. “Now, I don’t know your timetable Anne, but I think—Anne? Anne?” He stepped between Anne and the building. She blinked at him, dazed.</p><p>“Sorry, Gil,” she said. “What were you saying?”</p><p>“I was telling you where to go. I think it’s the seventh room on the first floor. To the right when you walk in.”</p><p>“Don’t I get to be on the higher floors?” She sounded put out.</p><p>“Of course not. The top floors are for biological sciences and law. But you’ll find the lower floors are much better because you get to leave without having to walk down three dozen or so stairs stuck behind ten other people.”</p><p>“Oh,” Anne managed.</p><p>“Tell you what,” said Gilbert, “We can go to the top floors together after class. What time do you finish?”</p><p>“Two-forty.”</p><p>“Ah, okay. I finish a little after that, so maybe another time then?”</p><p>“Yeah,” said Anne, “but would you come along to visit Marilla with me after class?”</p><p>“Of course I will.” Gilbert wrapped his arms around her. “Now, I better dash—I’m already late. Have a lovely day, I hope you enjoy it as much as you think.” Gilbert leant down and left a kiss on Anne’s forehead. She blushed, but he didn’t see. He was clumsily running for the building’s entrance, stumbling because his shoes were two sizes too large.</p><p>Anne followed him, but slowly. She wandered in a dream across the ground of York University, silently praying that she wouldn’t find herself alone or be mocked because she had a crease running up her pencil skirt.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anne meets an old friend at University and learns a secret of Gilbert's.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Anne Shirley?” a voice called from across the room. People were finding their seats and every face seemed foreign to Anne. The voice came again: “Anne! It <em> is </em> you, Anne!” Jane Andrews was making her way across the room. Anne was trying to hide her relief at being met with a familiar face.</p><p>“Not like you to get so excited, Jane,” she said. “It’s only me.”</p><p>“Well, I was afraid I wouldn’t know <em> anyone </em> here.” Jane was blushing. “I suppose I hoped you’d come along, but Diana told me <em> months </em> ago that you wanted to go to the University of Toronto.”</p><p>“I did, but I managed to get a scholarship here. Besides, Gil and I can catch the bus together most days . . . well, until he finishes in the winter.”</p><p>Jane smiled and sighed. “I’m sure he’ll have a wonderful time at Toronto next year.”</p><p>“Toronto?” Anne was trying to remember if Gilbert had told her anything about the University of Toronto. She couldn’t remember him mentioning it once.</p><p>“Haven’t you heard?” asked Jane. “He’s been talking about writing a thesis. But he has to go to UToronto to do it.”</p><p>“A thesis?” Anne was wide-eyed, hoping she’d misheard. There must be some mistake. Why would <em> Jane Andrews </em> know about Gilbert’s thesis when he hadn’t even told his best friend? Wasn’t she his best friend? “I don’t think Gil is writing a thesis, Jane,” continued Anne. “He would definitely have told me if he was planning something that significant. Don’t be silly.”</p><p>“You’re having me on, right?” Jane looked confused, nearing the brink of hysterical laughter—Anne had to be joking. “Gilbert must’ve told you.”</p><p>“Gil hasn’t said a thing,” replied Anne, suddenly very embarrassed. She could feel her face turning a deep shade of red. “How do you know?”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t realise you hadn’t heard about it. It doesn’t matter then, please just forget I said anything.”</p><p>“No,” Anne snapped, and Jane jumped. “Jane, did Gilbert say something to you?”</p><p>“No, it was Diana!” Jane cried. “Oh, it was Diana that told me because Gilbert said something to her! Please don’t tell her I told you so, maybe Gilbert is just trying to keep it a secret to . . . to surprise you or something.”</p><p>“Yes, well”—Anne straightened herself—“that is a very Blythe thing to do, but I am still angry with him. I hope that’s all it is. Gosh, that boy drives me crazy.”</p><p>“I’m sure it is all,” said Jane. She glanced behind her at a tall woman with fair hair and the tightest pencil skirt either of the girls had ever seen. It was a wonder she could still walk, Anne thought. She was the teacher, and they both knew it. An air of importance hung over her. “I think we ought to take a seat now,” said Jane. “Anne, will you sit with me?”</p><p>“Of course,” said Anne, trying to get Gilbert off her mind. The two girls found themselves a seat in the middle of the room.</p><p>“Far enough away so we won’t be called up,” remarked Jane, “but close enough to still see and hear everything.”</p><p>“But I want to be called upon,” said Anne, reluctantly settling into her seat.</p><p>Just as they sat, the woman with the tight pencil skirt called across the room. “Can you all please take your seats. It’s really lovely to see so many of you. My name is Mrs Murphy. Not ‘Miss’, not ‘Ma’am’, not ‘Muriel’; I am Mrs Murphy to you all. Old fashioned, I know, but professional in a personable way. I’ll get to know all of you over the next dozen-or-so weeks, and I hope there are a few things you can take from this class into your careers and your lives. First things first, I’d like you all to take out your textbooks.” There were a few groans from around the room, but Anne had her textbook out within seconds. She opened it to a random page before her, pretending to be fascinated by it.</p><p>Mrs Murphy continued: “Does everyone have their books out? Good, good. Now, what’s your name?” She was gesturing at Anne who was looking down at her book with a false interest. Jane elbowed Anne in the ribs which made her cry out. When her head snapped up to glare at Jane, every pair of eyes in the room were on her. “Yes, you,” said Mrs Murphy, “what’s your name?”</p><p>“I’m Anne Shirley, Mrs Murphy. That’s Anne spelt with an—”</p><p>“Are you interested at all in the textbook?” asked Mrs Murphy.</p><p>“Oh, yes!” lied Anne. “It’s wonderfully fascinating. I think it really fleshes out the niceties of teaching quite well. I’ve been reading it quite a bit and time really flies.”</p><p>“Really?” Anne’s face was burning with embarrassment. She lied to a teacher, and everybody was still staring at her. She sat in silence, hoping they’d look away. Mrs Murphy was staring at her too, not saying a word, waiting for her to answer. Anne opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. She did this several times before finally saying, “No, not really, Mrs Murphy. To tell you the truth, I find the textbook dreadfully dull and an utter waste of time that could be spent teaching. That’s not to say I’m not passionate about this class because, truly, I am. I just mean to say that I have read a large portion of the textbook and every second was like banging my head against a particularly unforgiving wall.” Stifled laughter came from all around the room. Anne wanted to crawl beneath her seat and stay there for an eternity.</p><p>“Well, you’ve read more of that drivel than I ever could,” said Mrs Murphy. The snickering from around the room stopped. There were a few seconds of total silence before the room erupted in raucous laughter. Anne nervously laughed along with them. When the laughter died down, Mrs Murphy added, “Don’t pretend to be interested, Anne Shirley. Your students need to know how you feel about things; and I, as a teacher, feel violated by this relentlessly tedious disgrace.” She had her own copy of the education textbook in her hands, but not for long. She dropped it face-down on the floor with a thunderous <em> bang </em>. There was some laughter, even some applause, and Anne smiled. She liked Mrs Murphy already, despite her embarrassment, and imagined they would get along just swell together.</p><hr/><p>“So, did you like Mrs Murphy?” Jane asked Anne after class as they walked across the turf. She was out of breath trying to keep up with Anne and her strides.</p><p>“Oh, she’s wonderful,” Anne replied. “I never expected to be called upon in that fashion, but after it all calmed down and we got into the content, I think I was satisfied. It’s a shame the board of education makes Mrs Murphy teach by the book, though I’m glad she openly finds it dull.”</p><p>“I don’t mind dull as much as you, Anne. As long as I can memorise the facts and ace the tests, it’s not much of a problem.”</p><p>“Well, I take pride in the enjoyment and the passion.” Anne shrugged, wondering how anybody could be <em> okay </em> with simple success.</p><p>“Girls!” called a voice from behind Anne and Jane. They both stopped and spun around to see a girl rushing to catch up with them. She wore a low-cut, white shirt and a short skirt that was met at the knee by a pair of long, blue socks. Locks of shiny, oak hair tumbled over her shoulders and around her chest and back. “God, you’re speedy, aren’t you?” Her beauty was almost depressing to poor Anne, who scrutinised the girl up and down, trying to uncover <em> any </em> reassuring sign of an imperfection.</p><p>“Anne is,” said Jane.</p><p>“Ah, Anne Shirley,” said the girl, turning to Anne. “Sorry you got called on like that in class. I just wanted to say ‘hi’. Philippa Gordon.” She stuck out her hand and Anne shook it. Then, she offered it to Jane who did the same. “But call me Phil, really. ‘Philippa’ sounds way too stuffy. Sorry, I haven’t even asked who you are.” She looked at Jane.</p><p>“Jane. But call me Jane, really.” Anne was caught off guard by this and stifled laughter. Jane was not known for her humour. </p><p>“It’s lovely to meet you, Phil,” said Anne. “Do you know anybody else here?”</p><p>“I’ve been trying to meet everybody, but a few zipped off before I had the chance. I know a few people around campus because I’ve been here a year already doing a fine art undergrad. I decided it’s not really for me, though. Not if I end up being a teacher anyway. Might as well study teaching if I want to be one, but I’m still trying to work things out.”</p><p>“Well, it’s been lovely meeting you,” repeated Anne. She was hoping Jane would say something—<em> anything </em>—to avoid an awkward silence. Thankfully, Phil spoke again.</p><p>“If you two aren’t busy this weekend, I’m hosting a little party. It would be a good opportunity to meet some people from the course.”</p><p>“I’m going to church with my boyfriend on Sunday,” said Anne. “So probably not.”</p><p>“Well, it’s on Friday night, so I wouldn’t worry. Still, it’s up to you. How about you, Jane?”</p><p>“Yeah, I think I can come,” said Jane, rummaging through her handbag. “But only if Anne does. If you give us the details we can let you know before Thursday.” She produced a spiral notebook and pen, and offered it to Phil. She took it and scribbled down an address.</p><p>“Starts at half-seven,” said Phil, “and you’re more than welcome to stay the night.”</p><p>Over Phil’s shoulder, Anne saw Gilbert strolling across the turf. She nudged Jane and said, “It really has been lovely to meet you, Phil, but I must be off.”</p><p>“Well, have a think about the party,” Phil replied. “I hope I’ll see you again tomorrow, Anne.”</p><p>“You will. See you then.” She waved at Phil, then turned to Jane. “Bye-bye, Jane, see you tomorrow.”</p><p>Anne hoped her brisk walk looked stern enough to Gilbert. At the very least, she hoped it looked mildly disappointed. She meant to ask him why he hadn’t told her about his thesis at the University of Toronto. And why had he told Diana but not her? Gilbert turned to Anne with a smile, but it faded when he saw the look on her face—<em>she always did have a temper the colour of her hair </em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, this is the second chapter and... the next one is probably going to be a little more interesting. Hope you like it :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Slight sauce, like your mam's spaghetti; handle with care.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What is it, Anne?” Gilbert asked. He took a step towards her, and she took one step back. Anne decided she would revel in her anger—she held the cards, <em> just like Gil had all this time </em>. She was not going to calm down, she decided. Maybe she was being irrational, but the thought hardly crossed her mind. It all hurt too much.</p><p>“How could you?” she said, finally. “Jane told me all about your little thesis. And, after all, I can’t help but be proud of you, Gil. But you never told me—you told Diana and not me! How will you afford Toronto? I’ll be all alone here at York!”</p><p>Gilbert’s mouth fell open. “Oh, you’ve misunderstood, Anne, I—”</p><p>“You better make me understand, Mr Blythe,” Anne hissed.</p><p>“Yes, just let me talk, stay quiet just—”</p><p>“Oh, you’d love it if I stayed quiet, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>“No, Anne, please stop. Just let me explain to you why I didn’t—”</p><p>“I’m letting you explain,” said Anne. She folded her arms. “Go on.”</p><p>“I haven’t been <em> writing </em> a thesis exactly.”</p><p>“I hardly think Jane was lying to me.”</p><p>Gilbert sighed and said, “I haven’t been <em> writing </em> one, because I’ve written one already. I just need to spend a semester with UToronto, do some work with Professor Alan there, and send it in for publication.”</p><p>“Why haven’t you told me?” Anne’s eyes stung with tears. She was so proud of him, but she still couldn’t understand why he never said anything. Did he hate her? She took another step away from him. All she wanted was for the pain to go away.</p><p>“Well, you’ve ruined the surprise now,” said Gilbert, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “It was meant to be a . . . surprise for you. Like a little gift, because I dedicated all eighty pages to you. I couldn’t have done it without you, Anne. You’ll never know how often the thought of you kept me writing, even when all I wanted was to set the thing down in the yard and burn it. I just wanted to—” Anne burst into tears and flung herself at him. Her words were muffled by her spluttering and the fabric of Gilbert’s shirt, but he knew she was apologising. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” he said, patting her back. Still, she held herself tight against him.</p><p>Anne lifted her head. There were slight streaks down her cheeks where her concealer had run, and the bags under her eyes looked heavier than ever. “Can we go someplace quiet?” she asked. Gilbert nodded and, with his arm around her, he led her behind the large, white building of York University.</p><p>They came to a wooden bench beneath an aged oak tree. “Are you still angry with me?” Gilbert asked. He wasn’t sure if Anne had heard him, because her head was still wedged between his arm and chest. He’d led her blindly here, and he led her blindly to sit. He noticed a few creases on her pencil skirt that hadn’t been there that morning.</p><p>“I’m not angry with you, Gil,” said Anne. “I’m so proud and so . . . humiliated. I really made a fool out of myself, didn’t I?”</p><p>“Of course you didn’t. Oh, Anne, I just wanted it to be special for us.”</p><p>Anne was silent. She stared into his eyes as tears traced lines down her face. Then, she leaned in and kissed him. Gilbert let out a muffled hum, kissing her back—soft, gentle, sweet. Anne could feel his breath against her cheek, and she willed her hands to explore his body. They dragged down from his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, the intensity of his muscle as it moved beneath his skin. She brought her hands lower still, between his legs, and felt him tense at her touch. Then Gilbert pushed her hand away gently, breaking their embrace.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Anne said. She couldn’t meet his eyes.</p><p>“It’s okay, Anne.” Gilbert reached out and took her hand. “One day, perhaps.”</p><p>“But not yet?”</p><p>“Not yet.”</p><p>“Why?” Anne combed her hair across her face. Gilbert tried to hold it back, but she pushed his hand away and slid back on the bench. “I shouldn’t have touched you that way, I’m sorry. I need to forgive myself.” She stood up and tried to smooth over her skirt. Anne was suddenly rather conscious of how tight her clothes felt.</p><p>“Anne, we can’t—” Gilbert sat staring up at her. “Not before marriage.”</p><p>“I know <em> you </em> can’t,” Anne said. “That was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.” </p><p>Gilbert could only watch as she turned on her heel and walked away. <em> If she needs time</em>, he thought, <em> I’ll give her time</em>. He felt an ache in his chest. Couldn’t Anne just be patient?</p><hr/><p>From York, Anne caught the trolleybus—which ran a record ten minutes late—to Toronto General Hospital. She sat in the visitor waiting room, trying to distract herself from Gilbert, but the thoughts kept coming back: <em> yes, it was wrong of her, but would he ever want her in that way? </em> He’d never expressed an ounce of sexual interest in her before, but that was just how Gilbert Blythe was. Whether he felt it or not, she knew he wouldn’t tell her. Of course she loved Gilbert . . . of course! But she wanted him in several ways he just couldn’t reciprocate. </p><p>A voice broke through her thoughts. “She’s ready to see you now.”</p><p>“How is she?” Anne asked.</p><p>“She’s just woken up from a little nap. We think she’s quite peaceful.”</p><p>Anne followed a nurse into a room of white walls and incessant beeping. A withered lady lay in a bed, hooked up to several machines. She was propped by two pillows, trying to keep her eyes open. She seemed to be staring at the wall opposite her bed. Her mouth opened, she drew a shaking breath, and then spoke. “Is that you, Anne?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Anne. She pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down, picking the lady’s hand up. “Yes, Marilla, it’s me.”</p><p>“Oh, Anne,” said Marilla Cuthbert. She stretched a shaking hand out to stroke Anne’s face and said, “Has that hair of yours darkened yet?”</p><p>“No, it’s the same old shade of red.”</p><p>“Good. I always liked it that way. Pretty, that’s what you are.”</p><p>“Thank you. I’ve missed having you ’round, Marilla. Mrs Lynde says she keeps your busted old recliner set up in the living room for when you come back home. She says she doesn’t sit in it at all, don’t you worry.”</p><p>Marilla closed her eyes and squeezed Anne’s hand. She spoke in a soft and phlegmy voice. “I’m never coming back home, dear. Not that home, anyway. But I do hope to see old Rachel one last time.”</p><p>“She came yesterday, didn’t she? And she’ll come again next week.” Anne smiled.</p><p>“Can you please ask her to come sooner than Sunday?” Marilla lapsed into a coughing fit, and Anne held her and rubbed her back until she fell silent once more.</p><p>“I can,” said Anne, fighting tears. She wanted to ask why, but she knew why. Instead, she said, “I went to university today, Marilla. It was as lovely as I expected. I saw Jane Andrews there, would you believe that?”</p><p>“Of course I can believe that!” said Marilla. “It’s a good way to be, y’know, Anne. The last person to know things sometimes. That was always me . . . right before I met Rachel Lynde. She’s a blessing and a curse, I’ll say that. Lord Almighty, she’s hard to live with. But I’ll miss her. And I’ll miss you. Can you come again tomorrow?”</p><p>“Yeah, I can visit you tomorrow.” Anne couldn’t fight her tears any longer, and she cried into her the old lady’s arms just as she had cried into Gil’s. “I’ll miss you, Marilla,” she sobbed.</p><p>Marilla simply nodded and hummed to herself. She would soon fall asleep, and Anne would be escorted from the room. As she walked out, Anne would promise herself that she’d see Marilla Cuthbert again. But she never did. Not in this life. </p><p>And sometimes that’s a good way to be. The last person to know things.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you like it! See you in 2 days for the next chapter :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anne finally gets home from her long day to greet her roommate: Diana Barry. This chapter is just them discussing boys and vibing like '80s girls.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Diana set her pen down as Anne entered the room. The latter’s hair hung in wisps around her face and her eyes were more sunken than ever.</p><p>“Anne!” Diana rose to greet her friend. “How was your day? How’s Marilla—” She stopped, noting Anne’s appearance. “Oh. Would you like some tea? Coffee?”</p><p>“Coffee, thanks,” said Anne. “But I’ll get it myself. Any distraction’s a good one.”</p><p>“No,” Diana shoved Anne onto the chesterfield. “You’re going to rest and you’ll tell me everything.”</p><p>Anne sighed. “I just need to sleep. It’s been a long day, that’s all.” </p><p>“You need to unwind first, Anne. Can’t go to sleep with all those silly thoughts running around your head.” </p><p>Anne stood up and smoothed over her skirt. “Is this skirt creased?” she asked.</p><p>“Yes, and your hair’s not much better. Get some leggings on. I’ll make coffee.” Diana walked over to the kitchen.</p><p>“I’ve just been at uni!” Anne shouted at her.</p><p>“And you didn’t go to the bathroom <em> once </em> to fix yourself up?”</p><p>“<em>University! </em>” Anne continued; “The same one Gil goes to, remember?”</p><p>“Yes, and—?” Diana dumped four spoonfuls of coffee grounds into a jug. Anne followed her into the kitchen and stood in the doorway, glaring. </p><p>“If Fred was going to change universities—”</p><p>“Fred doesn’t go to university, Anne.”</p><p>“Alright, bad example.” Anne stood thinking for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me about Gil’s thesis?”</p><p>“Because it was a surprise, and he said so to me. He made me swear I wouldn’t tell a soul.”</p><p>“Why was he talking to you about it?”</p><p>Diana stopped stirring the coffee and turned to face Anne. “Because <em> I </em> go there, Anne. And I happen to be on good terms with Professor Alan. Stop being so paranoid, you always get like this. Gil loves you.”</p><p>“Sometimes I wonder,” said Anne. “That’s all. I think . . . well, I worry that he won’t ever be <em> ready</em>, you know?”</p><p>“Of course he will,” Diana walked over to Anne and put an arm around her. “I’ve told you dozens of times before. Be patient.”</p><p>“Did you have to be patient with Fred?”</p><p>“Nah, he was all over me.”</p><p>“What a man.”</p><p>“Oh, I <em> know.</em>” Diana sighed and took a step back from Anne. “Go back to the living room and I’ll bring your coffee in. Then we can talk a bit more about this, alright?” As Anne turned to leave the room, Diana called after her, “Oh, and make sure you get those leggings!”</p><p>Anne trudged to her room, unzipping her pencil skirt as she went. She held it around her waist until she shut the door behind her. She dropped the skirt, hurling it into a pile of dirty laundry by her bed, and changed into her least-fluorescent pair of leggings. She sat at the foot of her bed and thought about Diana and Fred, then her and Gilbert. Was she so repulsive to him? She thought about how kind and gentle he was, pushing her hand away and smiling at her. But wasn’t there disappointment in that smile? <em> You’re better than this, Anne-girl</em>.</p><p>“Anne!” Diana called to her. “Coffee’s ready, Anne! Come get it before it goes cold.”</p><p>Anne got to her feet and stumbled to her door. She moved from her bedroom to the living room, trailing her fingertips along the walls lightly, careful not to mark the plaster. Diana was sitting on the chesterfield, blowing into a steaming mug of coffee. “Yours is there,” she said, nodding to the shallow table before her. Anne plonked herself down beside Diana and leant her head on Diana’s shoulder. “Bad day, huh?” said Diana.</p><p>“Not the best,” Anne replied, picking up her own mug and blowing into it. She took a sip, but spat it back into the mug—<em>too hot</em>. “Gil told me about that thesis and I haven’t been able to focus all day. Class was good but I kept thinking about him. And then he explained it all to me and I tried to . . . touch him, y’know.” Diana nodded.</p><p>“And he pulled away?” she asked.</p><p>“Yes, he pushed my hand away.”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t recommend that business in public, Anne,” said Diana. She shifted in her seat. “You see, Fred and I—”</p><p>“Yes,” Anne interrupted; “on a tourist bus in Washington. You’ve told me fifty times.”</p><p>“Well, yes. But it was immature. I’m not proud.”</p><p>“You <em> called </em> me five minutes after it happened.” Anne laughed. “And you haven’t gone a week without reminding me since. You’re so proud, Miss Barry.”</p><p>“Not even.” Diana was laughing too. “Fred and I have done <em> loads </em> since, and I haven’t told you a thing!”</p><p>“I wish I could, you know,” said Anne, sipping her coffee.</p><p>“Wish you could . . . what?”</p><p>“I wish I could be that close with Gil,” said Anne. </p><p>“Patience, Anne.” Diana leant over the table to sort out a stack of paper on the floor. “I certainly need it to get through my exams this semester.”</p><p>“Gil’s gonna be busy with exams too,” Anne groaned, sinking further into the chesterfield. </p><p>“Well,” said Diana brightly. “He’s got you to look forward to at the end of all that.”</p><p>“Not in the way <em> I </em> want.”</p><p>Diana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Anne, you know how he is. If you want to make things work between you two, sacrifices have to be made.”</p><p>Anne grumpily hugged a cushion.</p><p>“Fred and I don’t see each other as much as we’d like, you know . . . but we know it won’t always be this way. We’re holding on.”</p><p>Anne was silent for a moment, hugging the cushion tighter. Finally, she spoke. “What does it feel like, Diana?”</p><p>“What does what—oh.” Diana leant back on the chesterfield beside Anne. “It’s good.”</p><p>“Just good?” Anne leant back with Diana.</p><p>“Really good.” Diana sighed. “There’s no feeling like it.”</p><p>“Well, can’t you describe it to me, Diana?” Anne had finished her coffee and set it down on the table. Diana was still sipping hers.</p><p>“Well, Anne . . . in your words, it would be ‘euphoric’.”</p><p>“Of all the things I can imagine, Diana . . . I don’t think I can imagine this one.”</p><p>“Well, that’s exactly what it is.” </p><p>“Unimaginable?” </p><p>“For sure.” Diana smiled. “And afterwards, it’s the warmest, happiest feeling.”</p><p>Anne gave a small sniff. “Sounds nice.”</p><p>“But only when the time is right, Anne.” Diana looked her friend in the eyes. “Don’t try and force Gilbert into anything he’s not ready for.” </p><p>“How do I know when he’s ready? Did . . . did Fred give any signs?”</p><p>“He’ll let you know.”</p><p>Anne sighed and drew her legs to her chest. She flopped sideways in a ball. Diana laughed softly and stroked Anne’s hair. “You’ve got plenty of time to work things out. You’re only nineteen, after all.”</p><p>Anne sat listening to Diana talk for a while longer before drifting off to sleep. Diana fetched a pillow and some blankets for her, and tucked her in on the chesterfield. Anne would sleep through the sound of a telephone ringing several times before she woke, delirious and confused. It was the first time in over a year that Anne had slept through a night uninterrupted—and it would be the last for a while to come.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyyyy :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anne comes to terms with the death of a loved one :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Diana was still asleep in her room when Anne woke. She could see through the open curtains of the living room that the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon. The phone was ringing from where it sat beside the TV across the room, and Anne covered her ears. She groaned, remembering the events of the previous day. She always thought about Gilbert in the mornings. Anne kicked her blankets off and stumbled for the phone. She lifted it to her ear and heard a crackling sigh: static . . . static . . . and then a voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anne? Can I speak to Anne?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” mumbled Anne, trying to sound awake. She put on her best, womanly voice. ‘“This is she.” These words almost sent her into a fit of giggles if not for her doubt of Gilbert’s love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Mrs Lynde, Anne. I wanted to tell you that . . . that—” Mrs Lynde’s voice trailed away. Anne knew immediately what was going to follow and her breath hitched. A deep sigh came from down the phone before the voice spoke again: “We lost her in the night.” Rattling sobs shook the receiver in Anne’s hand, and she nearly dropped it. She’d never heard Mrs Lynde in such a state before—she had always been so composed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anne stood in silence for a long time, listening to the static crackle in her ear. Then, finally, she said, “Okay.” It was all she could manage before she put the phone down. She wasn’t in denial, only shock. Marilla—the woman who raised her—was gone. She sat back down on the chesterfield and thought about praying. Just as she pressed her hands together, Diana came out of her room. She was wearing a frilled nightgown, which was quite revealing. Diana padded over to the television and turned a dial—static. She tweaked the antenna atop the box and a picture formed. She sat down beside Anne without a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—with CBC News,” said the television quietly. “Last night came the news of incumbent United States president Ronald Reagan’s successor following his declining health and the news that he will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>stepping down</span>
  </em>
  <span> from reelection next year.” Diana was mesmerised by the screen. “The position will be taken by newly-elected Republican candidate and former Oregon senator Matthew Tremblay. Tremblay will run against Democrat nominee, former Vice President Walter Mondale, next year. The results will be decided in November. If he is successful, Tremblay will become the </span>
  <em>
    <span>second oldest</span>
  </em>
  <span> man to ever take office, turning 68 next October. Tremblay was born north of Seattle, though he claims to have spent most of his childhood in Toronto, Canada. Not much is known about Tremblay’s—” Diana stood and turned the television off. She looked at Anne with one raised eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hate politics, Anne,” she said. “You haven’t even said a word. Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anne nodded, still not saying a word. Her eyes were fixed on the blank television screen. She couldn’t see herself reflected in it and she was glad for that—she’d look a right mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look a right mess,” said Diana. “Let’s get you sorted out for uni, hey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going today,” Anne mumbled. “Need to rest. Might write.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it Gil?” Diana put her arm around Anne and held her to her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not Gil. I’ve forgotten about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you haven’t, Anne. You never forget about Gil and you never will. What’s the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears rolled down Anne’s cheeks. “Marilla.” She swallowed hard and sunk into Diana.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” All Diana could do was rub Anne’s back and allow her to cry into her lap. There was silence for a long time, until Diana grew certain that Anne had fallen asleep. She went to stand, but Anne pushed back against her and began sobbing again. “Hey, Anne,” Diana whispered. “It’s okay, Anne. I promise. Take the day off uni—hell, you take the </span>
  <em>
    <span>week</span>
  </em>
  <span> off uni, and I’ll contact . . . who do I need to contact?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just call Jane,” said Anne. “She said you’d been in contact. She can let Mrs Murphy know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. You have to let me stand up, darling.” Anne shifted from Diana’s lap, and the latter stood and went over to the phone. She pulled out a little book and flipped through it muttering, “Jane . . . Jane. Or did I put it under A for Andrews? Aha!” She dialled a number and lifted the receiver to her ear. A few moments passed. “Hi? Hello, Jane! Yes, this is Diana . . . yes . . . oh, that’s wonderful! . . . Well, I’m very proud of you for telling them, that must be such a hard thing. Especially since . . . are your parents conservatives? Ah, I thought so. Well, congratulations! . . . Yes, I wanted to let you know that Anne won’t be coming into uni today and she wants you to tell Mrs . . . Murphy?” Diana looked at Anne who nodded slowly. “She wants you to tell Mrs Murphy that she’s very sorry and will be back as soon as she can. . . . Oh, well she’s quite sick . . . no, I can’t put her on the phone right now—she’s sleeping, aren’t you, Anne? No response”—Diana let out a nervous chuckle—“see? She’s totally sleeping. . . . Oh, really? I’ll have to ask her about that. It’s been nice talking, Jane. I hope we can catch up over a spot of tea very soon. Bye-bye, dearest!” Diana put the phone down and sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to ask me about?” Anne murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Jane was talking about some party this Friday, but I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for anything like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in the mood,” said Anne. Diana’s mouth fell open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got nothing to lose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Anne.” Diana sat down beside her. “Don’t you dare start thinking that way. Look, you have me to lose, don’t you? And Gil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I need a break from Gil,” said Anne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please don’t say silly things like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re moving in different directions, Diana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to talk to Gil about this,” Diana said. “Would you like some coffee? Tea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Anne replied. “I think I need to sleep. And be alone.” She stood up and walked to her room. She hadn’t the energy to slam the door behind her, but she pulled it shut as hard as she could. It made a pathetic click. Anne’s pencil skirt was still by her bed in the corner, but she was still wearing her button-up from the previous day. She considered changing into something more comfortable, but, after she’d undone three buttons, she gave up and crawled into bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she dropped off into an uneasy sleep, Anne thought of Marilla. Then, her thoughts led to Phil and her party. She didn’t think of Gilbert . . . not once. Instead, she thought of getting up to call Jane Andrews—but Jane would be in class. She'd call Jane when she woke, and that was a promise.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>just a dinky chapter today... the next one will be much more entertaining<br/>hope you enjoy :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jane and Anne discover a little more about themselves...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anne didn’t go to university for the remainder of the week. She called Jane each morning, and Jane would talk to her about the course work. Sometimes, when Anne was feeling not quite so depressed, she’d try to steer her conversations with Jane from university to personal life. She didn’t talk much about Gilbert (or boys at all, really); instead, they would talk about fashion and the coming Friday with great excitement. Anne wanted to please Jane with her choice of clothing for the party, so she enlisted in Diana’s help. Friday rolled around and, with it, Diana and Anne had decided on her outfit: a low cut, cotton shirt and a miniskirt. Anne allowed Diana to apply a few layers of foundation and blue eyeshadow which lit her face up like New Year’s when she blinked. </p><p>“So, are you sure you know where you’re going?” Diana asked as she brushed Anne’s hair through for the third time.</p><p>“Yes,” Anne replied. “I have the address written down in a notebook. And I told Jane already, so she knows. It’s only a few streets down from here, anyway.”</p><p>“Do you need me to come with you?” Diana yanked the brush through a knot in Anne’s hair and she flinched. “Sorry, darling.”</p><p>“I’ll be okay, Diana. I’ll phone you before midnight to let you know if I’m coming home again or not. I think I might just stay the night with Jane.”</p><p>Friday dragged on for Anne. She nervously paced her room, trying her outfit on every ten minutes or so, paranoid something might go so terrifically, poetically wrong. She studied her appearance in the mirror of her bedroom, turning to see how she looked from behind and unsettled by how revealing the skirt Diana had chosen was. She pulled it down a little so it was closer to her knees. Maybe she was ready for a little rebellion, but not <em> that </em> much. She gently fastened the buckles of her bright pink pumps, which almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.</p><p>When Anne arrived at Phil Gordon’s apartment, she was greeted at the doorstep.</p><p>“Anne Shirley!” Phil cried. “Aren’t you an early birdie?”</p><p>“I guess so,” Anne replied. Phil was wearing rags, she thought—a piece of fabric slightly resembling a skirt covered the top of her thighs, and a very similar sliver of fabric was tied around her chest, crudely mimicking a tubetop. Phil must’ve caught Anne’s gaze.</p><p>“Clothes are overrated,” she said. “Summer’s over and I won’t be able to dress this way soon. Gotta make the most of things, eh?”</p><p>Anne nodded. “I guess so,” she repeated, pulling her miniskirt closer to her knees. She felt oddly self-conscious around Phil. The girl radiated a kind of vain energy. Anne was certain Phil wasn’t even aware of her own vanity.</p><p>“Come on in. Let’s have something to drink before the others arrive.”</p><p>Anne followed Phil inside, taking note of how similar the apartment looked to her own. Only the furniture and decorations appeared different—great, pink posters were plastered along the wall. George Michael, David Bowie, Madonna . . . you name it, Phil had it. She collected sets of china it seemed, too, with bookcases stacked to the brim with teapots and cups and saucers. Hardly seemed like a place to host a party.</p><p>“So how many people are coming?” Anne asked as she sat down beside Phil on the chesterfield. Before her, dozens of bottles of alcohol were lined up on a coffee table beside cigarettes and a small plastic bag full of self-raising flour.</p><p>“Oh, about ten,” Phil replied. Anne gaped at the alcohol in front of her. She wondered how a <em> hundred </em> people would finish it all in one night, let alone <em> ten</em>. Then, she looked at the small bag again and burst out laughing. She couldn’t contain herself.</p><p>“Are we baking a cake?” she said. “With <em> that</em>?”</p><p>Phil laughed with her. “You have such a sense of humour, Anne. Tell you what: before everyone else gets here, would you like to try a little?” Phil leant over the table and fished a five dollar bill from behind it. She began rolling the note in her fingers. Suddenly, Anne understood, and shuffled away from her. </p><p>“That’s . . . drugs?”</p><p>“Oh.” Phil set the bill down on the table. It slowly unrolled itself until it lay flat. “You weren’t joking, were you?”</p><p>“No, I was,” Anne replied, flustered. “I know lots of drugs. Probably more than you, Phil.”</p><p>“Go ahead then,” said Phil, smiling. “Silly thing, have some.”</p><p>Anne leant forward, conscious of keeping her skirt in a modest position. She retrieved the bill and rolled it, just like Phil had, between her fingers. Then, she opened the plastic bag and shook a small amount of powder into the rolled up bill. “Can I have a lighter, please?” she said.</p><p>Phil burst out laughing. “Jesus, Anne. That’s not—” She took the bill from Anne’s fingers. “Here, let me show you.”</p><p>Phil demonstrated to Anne, and Anne copied her, moments later. In a heartbeat, her head filled with cotton wool, and she was overwhelmed with a desire to hug Phil and never let her go.</p><p>“Thank you,” she managed. “Gosh—I mean, <em> holy crap</em>. This is great.”</p><p>The doorbell rang at that moment, and Phil stood up. “Hang tight, Anne,” she said. This process repeated itself over and over, as Anne floated about in her head. Slowly, people were filling the room. A boy called Moody was now sitting beside her, having demolished the entire mystery, plastic bag. Anne was starting to believe he might have inhaled the five dollar bill too. The thought made her giggle. Phil was dancing with her friends to <em> Come on Eileen </em>. The song played on repeat again and again; Anne held the sneaking suspicion it was the only record Phil had. Moody was beginning to shift closer and closer to her. In her trance, Anne didn’t notice. Yet she definitely noticed when his hand fell on her thigh and began drifting upwards.</p><p>“Aren’t you <em> Anne</em>?” Moody mumbled. Then, as fast as his hand had fallen on her, it was dragged away. Moody tumbled from the chesterfield, unleashing a string of expletives at the figure who’d pulled him. It was Jane Andrews who now occupied Moody MacPherson’s seat beside Anne. Anne still didn’t move, but she smiled. She liked Jane a lot.</p><p>“God,” said Jane. “Sorry I’m late.”</p><p>“I’m not God,” Anne replied; “I’m Anne. Don’t you remember, honey?”</p><p>Jane laughed and continued. “You look rotten. Have you been drinking?”</p><p>“I haven’t drunk a sip,” Anne replied. After all, she was telling the truth. Jane certainly wouldn’t suspect drugs. “I suppose I’m just tired.”</p><p>“Phil says it’s alright if we sleep in the spare bedroom tonight. Would you prefer to sleep now?”</p><p>“I think so,” Anne replied. Then, she burst out laughing again. “Carry me, my prince!” Jane clasped Anne’s hands in hers and pulled Anne to her feet. She lugged one of Anne’s arms over her shoulder and helped her down the hallway. The music faded as they staggered into the bedroom and Jane shut the door behind them. She lowered Anne onto the bed in the middle of the small room.</p><p>“There you go,” she said.</p><p>“Jane?” said Anne. Jane sat beside her, noticing that Anne’s skirt was drawn slightly up her thighs. She felt as if she’d overdressed in her bell bottoms and striped, long-sleeve top.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I’ve been thinking I need a break from Gil. What do you think?”</p><p>Jane was silent for a moment. Then, she said, “That might be wise. I don’t wanna force your hand, Anne. You do seem really tired, so think about it.”</p><p>“I have thought about it, honey.”</p><p><em> There was that word again</em>. “Alright, honey,” Jane replied, trying it for herself. It felt nice and, for the first time, she noticed Anne’s eyes: <em> beautiful </em>. She leaned towards Anne just a little, trying to stare into her eyes which kept darting away from her own. As she drew closer, Anne’s eyes met with hers—pupils dilated—and she leant forward too. Their lips locked, and Jane kissed Anne in return. Anne leant back on the bed and Jane followed. She let her hands trace the subtle curves of Anne’s body. Anne tucked her hands up Jane’s shirt and drew a deep breath through her nostrils. Jane’s fingers found the hem of Anne’s skirt and pulled it up over her hips. But Anne’s lips had gone slack against hers, and her arms hung limp, weighing Jane’s shirt down at the front. Anne was fast asleep. Jane sighed and pulled away, flattening Anne’s skirt out over her legs once more. She slid her friend under the covers of the bed and tucked her in. She placed a brief kiss on Anne’s forehead and turned out the light.</p><p>That night, Jane Andrews had a lot to think about. She’d need a beer for it, that’s for sure—maybe even two.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i was a little nervous to include this one, but hope you all enjoyed the chapter :D<br/>let my know what you think, i love reading the comments &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, this is a fairly long series, catapulting the 'Anne of Green Gables' fiction over 70 years in the future- the 1980s. I hope you like it and please let me know what you think! </p><p>Oh, and new chapters are going to be posted at least twice every week. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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